What Forever Means to Me
by Thrice Written
Summary: Alfred and Arthur grew up as best friends, despite their differences. They've always been there for each other. But when Arthur's parents withdraw him from school, the responsibility to see Arthur through his new life - as his bond - comes to rest on Alfred's shoulders, and it's not a burden that can be carried lightly when Alfred's parents have different plans for him. Omegaverse.
1. Overview

**What Forever Means To Me**

US x UK (and others)

**R18**

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**Author's Notes**:

Jumping on the Omegaverse bandwagon because I'm fascinated by the concept. If you don't know or aren't sure of what Omegaverse is, don't worry. This first chapter is an overview chapter; it provides pretty much all of the basic information that you'll need. The actual story begins in the next chapter. If you're confused about something, please don't hesitate to ask!

**IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ THE OVERVIEW (THIS CHAPTER). **In essence, the concept of Omegaverse is a _template_ - it provides a foundation for the AU, but the details are up to the writer. Therefore, every Omegaverse AU is different. There are similarities between them that tie them all to the idea of Omegaverse, such as heat cycles and mating and scientific terminology and such, but . . . anyway, just read the overview. And let me know if there's anything I should add to it for clarity.

**ALSO IMPORTANT: NINETY PERCENT OF MY OMEGAVERSE AU (AND THIS OVERVIEW) WAS CREATED SOLELY FROM MY IMAGINATION. **Please, as a fellow reader and writer, respect me and let me know before you borrow any of my ideas.

Okay, that bit's done. Next . . .

**Warnings:** Omegaverse, mpreg (that has anatomical backing), future angst, future drama, Omegaverse and normal cliches, tons of dialogue

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

-x-x-x-

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**Overview:**

**Terminology, Breeding, Anatomy, and Types**

* * *

In the Omegaverse AU, there are three distinct types of individuals in the social hierarchy: Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. Alphas are at the top of the pyramid, while Omegas occupy the bottom sector. An individual's type is derived from his or her parents' and grandparents' types according to Mendelian genetics (the Alpha and Beta traits are dominant, the Omega trait is recessive).

**Terminology**

_Bonding —_ the process that two individuals go through to become mates; consummated through sexual intercourse and often conception

_Heat cycle_ _—_ applies mainly to Omegas; the period during which an individual's fertility and reproductive needs peak

_Knotting_ _—_ the event in which the base of the penis engorges after ejaculation and prevents its owner from pulling out

_Mother_ _—_ an individual who gives birth to a child or children; gender-neutral

_Pheromones_ _—_ a chemical substance, released by an individual, that acts as a stimulus for certain behaviors in other members of the same species

_Physical maturity_ _—_ the age at which an individual becomes able to reproduce

_Type_ _—_ the category under which an individual falls (Alpha, Beta, or Omega)

**General Information About Breeding**

Each type is comprised of both sexes. Anatomically, males and females are similar in the fact that they are both capable of carrying children to term and giving birth, and have the necessary body parts and natural aids to do so (see _General Information About Reproductive Anatomy_), regardless of type. However, only males may impregnate their mates, and the suitablity of each individual in terms of childbearing is closely dependent on his or her type. For example: while still possessing the ability to do so, Alpha males have bodies that are the least suited to childbearing. In contrast, Omega males have bodies that are far more adapted to the rigors of carrying children. Couples in which both mates are female have alternative options in regards to raising a family, such as artificial insemination or adoption.

The gestation period of an expectant mother usually lasts somewhere between eight to twelve months, depending on his or her physical condition. The length of labor while giving birth can extend anywhere from two hours to two days. Single births are the most common; twins are rarer. It is possible for fraternal twins to have different types (i.e. twins that are an Alpha and a Beta), but identical twins invariably share the same type.

**General Information About Reproductive Anatomy**

Both sexes, regardless of type, possess ovaries, uteruses, vaginas, and the other organs needed to bear offspring, as well as the means to self-lubricate. However, the locations of these parts differ between males and females. In females, the vagina is located above the anus and opens into the vulva. In males, the vaginal canal is a secondary tubular structure that opens into the sigmoid colon, with a protective muscle that shutters tightly into place and seals off the canal when it is not in use. Preceding the opening of the muscle, glands located around it secrete lubricating fluids to clean the passage and prevent contamination. During intercourse, childbirth, and any other instances in which the vaginal canal needs to be open, another muscle will close off the sigmoid colon from the rest of the large intestine. It is possible for the individual to open either of the two barrier-like muscles according to will (but not at the same time), or it may occur naturally, through reflex.

**_Alphas_**

Alphas are larger, broader, more athletic, and often more physically beautiful than Betas and Omegas. They are typically born with a "dominant" mindset and are raised accordingly. They are the respected leaders, politicians, entrepreneurs, models, and athletes of the world. Alphas have an extra, natural dose of pheromones that makes them attractive to Betas and Omegas, but _— _upon reaching physical maturity at around age thirteen _—_ they have difficulty controlling themselves around Omegas in heat, though they themselves have no set heat cycle. Nonetheless, they are unquestionably dominant in most (if not all) of their interpersonal relationships and have a higher, more potent ability to "father" children than the other two types. Female Alphas will carry the children of their lesser Beta or Omega male mates, but also have the option of having their mates impregnated through artificial insemination. It is not possible for a female Alpha to directly impregnate her male or female mate. Alpha males, on the other hand, not only have the ability to impregnate their mates, but are also able to knot, which increases the chances of conception. Alpha males typically knot immediately following intercourse with an Omega in heat, or following intercourse after a long period of previous sexual inactivity.

Alphas generally prefer to bond with Omegas, but they will settle for a Beta if the occasion calls for it. Most Alphas take around three to four mates in a lifetime, and some may have up to two mates at a time. Due to the nature of their personalities, Alphas rarely bond with one another.

An Alpha is identified by the tan Alpha birthmark (A) on his or her chest.

**_Betas_**

Betas are the average, practical, everyday members of society. They are neither ambitious nor exceptionally strong, but it is their orderly work and resilient personalities that support the frame of the world. They understand and accept the fact that Alpha leaders need Beta followers. Despite this, it is far from uncommon for a Beta to have a developed mind of his or her own; their type is proficient in utilizing simplicity and pragmatism as problem-solving skills in daily life. If there is an Alpha launching a campaign, it is almost a certainty that a Beta is organizing the details in the background. Betas may not be at the top of the ladder, but they are the ones that help hold that ladder up.

Betas reach physical maturity at around age fourteen or fifteen. They do not go through heat cycles, nor are they as intensely affected by the heat cycles of Omegas as Alphas are. Usually, Betas prefer to bond within their own type. Once in a while, they may bond with an Alpha or an Omega, but their reproductive and fertility rates are best when bonded to other Betas. Betas typically have one or two mates during their lifetime.

A Beta is identifed by the rose-colored Beta birthmark (B) on his or her shoulder.

**_Omegas_**

Omegas are at the bottom of the social hierarchy, though their higher-type peers often feel the drive to protect them. Once Omegas bond, they are expected to stay at home and care for the children that they will have with their mate. It is rare for an Omega to pursue a career; in fact, a large percentage of Omegas leave school after reaching physical maturity_— _which is typically between ages twelve and fourteen _— _to find a mate and raise a family. Omegas possess two distinctive traits: short, slim statures, and the intense heat cycles that they go through once physically mature. It is also common for Omegas to have sturdy hips and well-built pelvises. During a heat cycle (which, though it varies from Omega to Omega, usually occurs once every three months and lasts until either conception occurs or it burns itself out), Omegas are helpless to their own physical needs. Their bodies release concentrated pheromones that are designed to attract Alphas and the occasional Beta; depending on the intensity of the pheromones, Omegas in heat often need to be removed from public environments and isolated to avoid causing disruptions. Because they are weakened and vulnerable while in heat, Omegas are easily taken advantage of, and their families and mates are often highly protective of them during a heat cycle. Pregnant Omegas experience milder, less frequent heat cycles until they give birth.

Omegas have the highest fertility rates of the three types. In between heat cycles, the chance of an Omega conceiving is around twenty percent; during heat cycles, it increases to eighty percent. The number of mates an Omega bonds with during a lifetime varies greatly depending on many factors, such as health, the types of the mates, the number of times impregnated, and so forth. Omegas are naturally more attracted to Alphas, but will bond with either an Alpha or a Beta. Omegas very infrequently bond with one another.

An Omega is identified by the dark Omega birthmark (Z) at the small of his or her back.


	2. One: There's Still Hope for Us

**-x-x-x-**

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_Chapter One_

**_There's Still Hope for Us_**

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"So what'd you get on Beller's test?" Alfred asked Arthur earnestly the moment they left the school. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and kicked at a pile of autumn leaves near the sidewalk, but his attention was, like always, entirely focused on Arthur.

Arthur smiled, just short of smug. "Ninety-seven."

"What?" Alfred gaped at him. "_Fuck_! What the — how'd you _do_ that? The multiple choice was friggin' impossible and I ran out of time on the essay — I was like on the third paragraph when the bell rang — and I hate how he never gives us word banks for the fill-ins 'cause I can never figure out what he wants us to write — what was I gonna say again? Oh, yeah. Just . . . _how_?"

"It's called studying."

"Hey, I _did_ study!"

"Of course," Arthur said, toeing a pebble in his path. Then, with more sympathy, "What was your score?"

"Absolute crap compared to yours."

"Come on, I'm sure it wasn't that bad . . ."

He trailed off encouragingly. Alfred sulked in silence for a few moments, knowing full well who was going to end up giving in, then glanced at Arthur's face and puffed out his cheeks in defeat. "Okay, fine, I got a seventy-two. Happy?" When he saw Arthur open his mouth to speak, he said quickly, "And don't be like, 'Oh, don't worry, you'll do better next time' because you've said that for about three tests in a row."

"Well, it's not my fault that —" Arthur began, miffed.

"— I suck at History, yeah, I know." Alfred sighed dramatically for effect, then flashed a grin his way. "You're just too damn smart for an Omega, Artie. Why're you still in school? You should be home . . . I don't know, making babies with your brothers or something." They both shuddered at the mental image.

"Ugh — Alfred, that's disgusting!"

"Yeah . . . uh, forget I said that."

They kept walking for another fifty paces in companionable silence. Alfred shot a sideways glance at Arthur; the other boy seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes staring off into the distance. There was a faint, natural flush on his cheekbones. In fact, all of Arthur's skin seemed to be a shade or two pinker than usual. Alfred didn't know why it took him so long to notice. How long had it been like that? A few hours? A day?

"Arthur?"

"Yes?" Arthur turned his head towards him, and Alfred took a quick second to study his eyes, looking for confirmation for what he suspected. Yes, there it was — Arthur's pupils were dilated, the green of his irises reduced to rings. They hardly reacted to the change in light as the trees overhead gave away to sunshine. Alfred knew what was happening, just like he knew that if he were to check Arthur's mark, it would be much darker than it normally was against his pale skin. Of course, he couldn't _really_ just flip up the back of Arthur's shirt and look — Arthur had a mark that was a lot lower down, right below the waistband of his slacks. Plus, Arthur would probably slap him if he tried.

Alfred said carefully, "Dude, you're _going_, aren't you?" _Going_ was teenage slang for _going into heat_.

Arthur blinked. "Huh?" His gaze went inward for a moment, like he was considering it. "Oh . . . I-I guess I am." He sounded surprised. "I hadn't noticed."

"How's that work? It's pretty obvious every time, isn't it?" _At least, it is to me_, Alfred thought, furrowing his brow. He could tell whenever Arthur was _going_, regular as clockwork. They had been friends for a pretty long time. But then again, it was probably just the warm twinge from his own hormones that was cluing him in.

Arthur looked slightly disturbed for a moment, then shrugged it off. "Well, I usually do feel it coming on, but with all the schoolwork and such lately . . . I guess I've been too distracted."

"And no one in your family's mentioned it?" Alfred asked, letting a hint of disbelief color his voice. Arthur's family was very in tune with Arthur's needs — he was their precious baby Omega, as Mrs. Kirkland had, to Arthur's embarrassment, asserted more than once in Alfred's presence.

"No . . . Father and James have been out, and Mum never said anything about it. All she's been doing is — oh." Arthur stopped in his tracks and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh. Of_course_."

Alfred stopped with him. "What?"

"She's been busy getting out more bedsheets and coverings and — I can't believe I've been so oblivious these past few days. She knows I go through tons of sheets when I'm . . ." Arthur flushed, and brought a hand up to cover his face. "She'll be laying the . . . the pads out for me soon, too. I just know it. And I think she mentioned something a few months back about getting me those thin absorbent sticks that come with a . . . a leak-guard. Er, you know. The kind they make especially for male Omegas."

"That's . . ." _Not awkward at all_. ". . . Nice of her." They both stared down at the leaf-speckled pavement. After a moment of weird silence, Alfred scrabbled for something else to say that wouldn't make things even more uncomfortable. "So, uh, I guess this means I won't be seeing you again until . . . ?"

He watched as Arthur drew up some mental estimates. "Um, I would say I still have another day or two before I have to stay home. Then it'll be a week and half or so until Mum will let me come back."

"Aw, man, that's a really long time. I'm gonna miss you." The words popped out before Alfred know what he was saying.

Arthur choked, and blushed even harder. "I-I-It's not that long! It's just Mum's being extra cautious because she doesn't want a repeat of what happened in Grade Eight."

"Oh, jeez. Haha, I remember that," Alfred remarked. He was secretly thankful for the distraction. The words that had so involuntarily slipped out of his mouth were still rolling around inside his head, making his heart pound faster and harder. "Francis was _all_ over you."

"I honestly did think it would be over by the third day," Arthur said a bit sheepishly.

"Nope. You got the teacher so mad. After you got sent home again, she was _raving_ about how irresponsible you were for coming back while you were still in it and calling you an attention-seeker and stuff." Alfred laughed. "I was like, God, OCD much? She was such a Beta."

That made Arthur crack a smile. "She _was_ a Beta, actually."

"Yeah, I could tell. She kind of had a point, though." When Arthur puffed up indignantly, Alfred hurried on. "Before you bite my head off, no, I'm not calling you irresponsible . . . or an attention-seeker. It's just that you really were still in full swing back then, I mean. You were clogging up the room with all your pheromones and driving everyone crazy," Alfred half-joked, twirling his finger around his temple to demonstrate his point. Ruffled feathers soothed, Arthur gave him a playful little shove.

"Oh, keep walking, you dolt."

Arthur's house was only about two blocks away, and they spent the entire time on the way there chatting about other amusing, inconsequential things. Alfred was glad that his slip of the tongue wasn't brought up; he hoped that Arthur would forget about it altogether, if he hadn't already. Some things were just best left unsaid.

Once they rounded the corner, Arthur turned to Alfred to say goodbye. "I wish Mum would at least let you come visit me," he said in a resigned tone. "I'm always by myself during it. It gets boring, and lonely."

Was he implying something? Alfred swallowed. "You know she won't. Because you're an Omega and I'm an Alpha and she's worried that that we'll end up trying to, y'know, bond or something." It was already an established routine: whenever Arthur went into heat, Alfred politely steered clear of his house for the duration of it and hung out with his other friends at school as he waited for him to come back. Mrs. Kirkland was more than adamant that her son wouldn't be allowed to see Alfred while he was weak and in need of a mate.

"I know. But still. I'd like the company."

Another stretch of silence. "Maybe I can call?" Alfred suggested.

Arthur laughed. "You can try, but I doubt I'll be very coherent."

"Yeah, exactly . . . so what's the point in me coming to see you? It'll be the same thing, won't it? Plus, you need the rest and stuff." _If I really were to just drop by, I don't think we'd get much talking done . . . Oh, that's awkward. _"Yeah, on second thought, I really should just leave you alone with your . . . egg-thingy . . . and come see you on a good day. By the way, do you still have it? The egg-thingy, I mean."

"No, I already graduated from that. Now it's a full-sized, French-imported, ribbed vibrator," said Arthur with a straight face. They looked at each other for a heartbeat, then burst out laughing. It was the kind of laughter that was hard to stop once started. It took them a good three or four minutes to wind down from guffaws to giggles.

Wiping his wrist across one teary eye, Alfred chuckled, "I should probably go. Mom's gonna be wondering where I went."

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Hopefully." Arthur waved, and Alfred turned to go and was halted abruptly by Arthur's words to his back. "I'll miss you, too," Arthur half-whispered.

Alfred spun around, eyes wide, to confirm that he'd really heard what he thought he'd heard, but Arthur was already running down the street and across the lawn towards his house. His slim figure disappeared through the front door, quick as the wind, and then Alfred was standing alone on the sidewalk with nothing but his backpack for company. A neighbor's dog barked in the next yard over.

"Oh. Wow," the Alpha said to himself, dazed but suddenly feeling lighter than air.

During the entire short walk home, he couldn't stop himself from grinning.

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**A/N: Did the formatting for this chapter come out all right? I'm using someone else's computer and it looks weird, so I have no idea . . .**

**I'm trying to work on both dialogue (using a lot of it, which is kind of inevitable anyway) and pacing (faster) with this story, so let me know how I'm doing. XD**

**For those of you complaining about the story being USUK and not UKUS and accusing me of being biased against UKUS:**

**1) If you've seen any of my other works, you should already know that I write both.**

**2) I chose to do USUK for this fic because so far, I've seen only UKUS Omegaverse.**

**3) Who said the story is exclusively USUK, anyway? For pairings, I wrote "USxUK (and others)." And there are always exceptions to the information presented by the Overview.**

**4) Grow up.**

**Everyone else, thanks for the early faith in me! Reviews are appreciated!**


	3. Two: At Least Let Me Dream

**-x-x-x-**

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_Chapter Two_

**_At Least Let Me Dream_**

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_The room was rather dimly lit — by what, Alfred wasn't quite sure. Was it moonlight? Candlelight? The glow of a lamp turned down on low? Whatever it was, it caused golden shadows to gather in the corners and arch delicately across the walls. The air had a warm, velvety quality to it, the silky sheets were dreamlike beneath him, and Arthur was soft and willing in his arms._

_The covers had been kicked back to give them more room. Arthur was relaxed, his breathing steady, his shoulder blades pressed against Alfred's chest as his hands held on to the bed, and Alfred found himself caressing Arthur's body with gentle fingertips, starting with his slender neck and moving his way down his breastbone to his navel. The slow glide of bare skin on bare skin was indescribable; Alfred couldn't get enough of it, and tried to pull Arthur back even farther into his lap. Arthur leaned his head into Alfred's shoulder, eyes closed, face illuminated by the same faint light that shone in the rest of the room._

_Arthur was still the same. His appearance was unchanged, as was his sweet, tender, compelling scent. But he was also different — quieter, wanting, reacting softly to Alfred's touch as Alfred explored places that he had never seen or felt, places that had always been hidden by clothing and Arthur's modesty and the knowledge that they couldn't be together this way._

_Pressing his lips to Arthur's warm neck, Alfred placed a hand on each of Arthur's smooth thighs and, with a whispered word against his skin, moved them apart. They remained spread, and Alfred heard Arthur's breath hitch slightly in anticipation._

_He rubbed Arthur's inner thigh lightly, feeling the sheen of natural slickness that had seeped from Arthur's body and was now moistening the pads of his fingers. Arthur pressed back harder against him, his desire reflecting Alfred's and Alfred's reflecting his. A ripple went up his spine and his head tipped back against Alfred's collarbone as he melted into Alfred's fondling._

_When a pair of Alfred's fingers found their way inside, Arthur's mouth fell open soundlessly, and his grip flew from the sheets to Alfred's knees. Alfred didn't hesitate in moving his hand and wrist in a circling pattern. He was winding Arthur up, higher and higher, tighter and tighter and tighter until neither of them could bear to draw it out any longer. Finally, Arthur pawed shakily at Alfred's skin, a silent plea; Alfred obliged and withdrew his sticky fingers. He was in no position to deny him — he couldn't find it in himself to deny him. His body was just as desperate as Arthur's, and he could no longer pretend it wasn't._

_Then Arthur was on his back atop the silk sheets, limbs shimmering gold, nipples tiny studs of diamond, eyes luminescent. He raised a hand to Alfred's cheek, touched him with gilded fingers, and murmured something that Alfred couldn't hear. Alfred responded by kissing him briefly, with tongue. His lips and mouth tasted like crystal — cool but sweet, fragile but beautiful, wholly breathtaking in so many ways._

_They slid together with ease, Alfred giving and Arthur yielding. Their union carried with it a feeling of relief, of hope, of promise, of returning home after a long, trying day. In that moment, nothing separated them. It felt right in a way that Alfred hadn't known was —_

The alarm clock went off.

_— possible_.

Alfred didn't want to wake up, because he knew that once he did, the surrealistic quality of the dream would stop clinging to him, intimate as a second skin, and would instead dissolve like tissue paper in water — and then it would be forever beyond his grasp. He would be left with a memory of it, but he would never be able to get back the intense feelings it had called to the surface while he was asleep.

He squeaked open his eyes. The world — specifically, his room — was still a dark, shapeless blur. With a sleep-clumsy hand, he fumbled his glasses from the nightstand to his face and accidentally jabbed himself in the cheekbone in the process. That woke him up enough to realize that it wasn't actually his alarm clock that had trilled at him, but his phone.

_Inbox (1)_, read the alert. Blinking his eyes to clear away his drowsiness, Alfred unlocked his phone and opened the text. He watched it unfurl across the screen.

_**Message received 5:32 AM**_

**Sent by: Arthur K.**

**Subject: Feeling unwell**

**Good morning, Alfred. I'm sorry . . . I won't be able to make it to school today after all.**

Alfred's fingers suddenly felt numb. Arthur was sick? It wasn't an uncommon thing, especially once he'd started _going_ and his immune system was too preoccupied with other matters to be as effective as usual, but . . . damn, Alfred was still worried for him. He tapped out a reply.

_**Message sent 5:35 AM**_

**Sent by: me**

**Subject: [none]**

**aw man that sux balls. r u ok? wat r u sick w/?**

Arthur's response came fairly quickly, which let Alfred know that despite whatever he'd come down with, at least he was still functional and thinking straight.

_**Message received 5:37 AM**_

**Sent by: Arthur K.**

**Subject: It's nothing to fuss about**

**Just a bit of fever. Enough to keep me home and bedridden, but no harm done. Do you have to be so vulgar first thing in the morning?**

x

_**Message sent 5:38 AM**_

**Sent by: me**

**Subject: [none]**

**ya. u woke me up from a nice dream :P**

x

_**Message received 5:39 AM**_

**Sent by: Arthur K.**

**Subject: For God's sake**

**Do I want to know?**

x

_**Message sent 5:39 AM**_

**Sent by: me**

**Subject: [none]**

**probs not. hope u feel better soon artie! :)**

Arthur texted back in his typical flustered manner, and after a few more minutes of back-and-forth teasing, Alfred thought that he might as well get up and get dressed and somehow try to get used to the idea of getting through the day without his best friend (was that really all he was?) by his side. Thank God he still had his phone — at least he could text Arthur whenever he felt like it. Maybe he'd even be able to go see him after school, if Arthur wasn't too far along down the line to accept visitors.

Once at school, it quickly became apparent that Alfred wasn't the only one who was feeling his absence.

As soon as Alfred sat down in his English class, several minutes before the bell, two fellow Alphas — Francis and Antonio — immediately crowded his desk. The Alphas at the high school usually spun off into cliques at the beginning of each school year, and the mixed feelings of geniality, indifference, and animosity between them varied depending on the members, but Alfred had managed to maintain steady friendships with both the Student Council VP and the captain of the soccer team since their first year.

Francis slung his legs across the desk's polished surface, practically into Alfred's lap, and crossed them with deliberate smoothness. "So, my friend." His mouth curled into a smirk. "Where is our darling little Omega? Why is he not in class with us today?"

Before Alfred could answer, Antonio spoke up. "Is he . . . _busy_?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Alfred scowled, much to the other two's obvious amusement. "Hey, knock it off, guys. Arthur's not feeling that good, so he didn't come."

"Oh, _really_." Francis had a particularly annoying talent for doubling the number of syllables in his words when he was skeptical. He shared a knowing glance with Antonio, and they both snickered.

"Yes, really!" insisted Alfred. When that didn't deter them, he added, "Jeez, stop being pervs! I didn't knock him up."

Francis's eyes suddenly lit up with interest. "You mean that you — and him — are still unattached? Good God, Alfred, it has been, what, five years since the both of you hit maturity? Six? Even if you have decided not to bond with him, you should at least have a mate by now, no? Or a potential mate? You do not have a shortage of offers, that is for sure, Monsieur Football Star."

"_No_! Dude, we have this friggin' conversation six times a year." _Six times a year: every time that Arthur's out_, Alfred thought, exasperated. "I'm unbonded, and I'm staying that way 'til I'm ready. Besides, my parents would kill me if I bonded with someone before I've bumped up my C average in History. You guys know that."

Antonio shrugged with sympathy, and said, "Well, that's a shame. Having a mate just makes you happier, you know?" He elbowed Francis, who grinned in agreement.

Alfred sighed. "Yeah, I know, I get it. It's not like I don't _want_ to be happy or anything. It's just — I don't have the time right now. I gotta focus on school. I'm not like the two of you and Arthur. Good grades don't just drop out of the sky for me." Their line of conversation was becoming increasingly depressing — it reminded him how he could possibly be the only academically underachieving Alpha in the world — so he changed the subject. "How's Jamie?" he asked Antonio.

"He's fantastic." Antonio beamed at the mention. "He's over at Bella's and her parents are taking care of him, but we've decided to try to find a place together after he turns two. For now, I just drop by on my way home after practice and stay with him until dinner. He's the most adorable little thing you've ever seen — he's started to talk, did you know that? A lot of it's still baby nonsense, babbling and stuff, but he calls Bella 'Mommee' when she goes to pick him up."

"What does he call you, then?" Francis asked, curious.

"'Daddee.'" Antonio fairly glowed with pride.

"How cute. I wish my little Bri were old enough to do anything but squeal at me . . ."

Alfred listened to them for a little while longer, the lonely feeling in his chest growing. He hated how he always ended up feeling left out whenever Antonio and Francis started talking about the families they were making, even though he was the one who brought it up and they'd been good friends for years. It was kind of an unavoidable subject. Sometimes it was like he was the only person left in the entire senior year who didn't have a baby or toddler at home in the crib with half of his genes. He was seventeen, already beyond the ideal age to become a parent for the first time, if the statistics in Health class a few years back were right; hell, his own mom had had him when she was fourteen. What in the world was he doing still childless? What in the world was he doing without a _mate_? They didn't have to have kids right off the bat — they just had to bond, and that was just sex and falling in love in terms of their body chemistry, wasn't it? It couldn't be that hard. At least, not if he found the right person or people, like Antonio and Francis had.

Francis had been right earlier: Alfred _did_ have a lot of potential candidates to choose from if he really wanted a mate (the cheerleaders, even the bonded ones, practically threw themselves at him after every game), but . . . none of them were people he would want to spend time with outside of school, let alone raise a family with.

He wished Arthur could be there to distract him. Arthur was one of the few who had, like him, remained single — which, in hindsight, was actually pretty rare for an eighteen-year-old Omega. But Alfred knew it was because Arthur wanted to focus on his studies and graduate and possibly go to college, with the support of his relatively lenient parents. Arthur had put the idea of bonding off to the side to make way for his academic future. And unlike Alfred, he was doing a pretty spectacular job.

_Dammit, I'm such a failure_, Alfred thought glumly.

The period passed uneventfully. Alfred kept a hand under his desk and glanced down at his phone every few minutes or so while the teacher was turned away, hoping for a text, but none came. He chewed his bottom lip and knew it was probably because Arthur was asleep or just didn't have anything to talk about. But he couldn't help the empty feeling in his chest any more than he could help his unbonded status.

It was only when he was walking into lunch that his phone finally sounded its cheery glissando.

_**Message received 12:34 PM**_

**Sent by: Arthur K.**

**Subject: Make-up work**

**I forgot to ask you earlier, but when you go to History, would you mind letting Beller know that I need him to send me the class material for the next week and a half through ZPort? I'd tell him myself, but my laptop won't start, and Mum refuses to let me out of bed to use our home computer. Thanks.**

ZPort was short for the Omega School Portal, which was a specialized online system every school had that made it easier for Omegas who were unable to attend school due to pregnancy or being in heat to keep up with their classes. Their school also had the APort and BPort networks for Alphas and Betas. Convenient inventions, whoever thought of them, and anti-truancy to boot: APort and BPort were parent-activated, designed to be unforgiving on students who ditched class and wanted to take advantage. ZPort wasn't as strict, but then again, since most Omegas were expected to legally leave school before graduation, the higher-ups didn't make a big deal out of it.

Alfred slid out his phone's keypad and typed a return message, tongue tucked between his front teeth.

_**Message sent 12:36 PM**_

**Sent by: me**

**Subject: [none]**

**sure. do u want me 2 let ur other teachers kno 2?**

Arthur replied by saying no, it was fine, Beller would forward the notice to all of his other teachers.

For a moment, Alfred considered asking Arthur if he could come over after school. Then he decided against it. _It's still day one_, he thought. _He probably doesn't want to see me. Maybe I'll call him later instead?_

Some part of his mind told him that he was being too needy and obsessive, but he ignored it. Arthur was his _best friend_. What kind of person would he be if he wasn't worried about his best friend while the latter was sick?

Alfred took a deep breath. Either way, he needed to take a break from thinking about Arthur. It was turning into a habit as regular as nail-biting. He prepared for himself for what he secretly called "the lunch crush" and walked into the caf.

It took Period 7's posse of cheerleaders all of three and a half seconds to spot him. He didn't even have to sit down at a table; Jaelyn Wang saw him first and sent the news rippling through the group, and they swarmed toward him like a school of sleek, glittery minnows. One of them — a girl with wavy hair; Alfred couldn't really remember her name, it was Jessica or Hayley or something like that — was pushed, giggling and blushing, to the forefront.

"Hey, Al, you should come sit with us," she said once they approached, her eyes peeking coyly up at him through her eyelashes.

She actually wasn't all that bad-looking. None of them were; aside from the captain and a couple of her friends, who possessed natural Alpha beauty and charisma, all of the members of the cheerleading team were Betas chosen for their attractiveness, flexibility, and popularity. If Alfred's priority from the start had been to have gorgeous kids, he wouldn't have had to look any further than the girls in this clique for a mate.

Unfortunately for them, he didn't care what his future offspring looked like so long as they weren't butt-ugly. _Well, I kinda want them to have green eyes. Green eyes are nice. If I could just —_

He could only think of three people he was close with who had green eyes: Antonio, Elizaveta, and Arthur. And of those three, the first two were solidly off-limits. Which left just Arthur.

_God, what is up with me today?_

"Sure. Where're you all sitting?" Alfred asked without thinking.

They gathered around him and herded him to the round table right in the center of the room. The Center Table, as it was known. The cheerleaders had an unspoken, unchallenged reservation on it, no matter which of the four lunch periods was in session. It was flanked by the jock table on the left and the table that hosted the generic, non-cheerleader preps on the right. The majority of the people that filled these tables were Alphas; the rest, self-confident Betas. The only Omegas that hung around were either mates of someone in the in-crowd or wide-eyed wannabes.

Alfred vaguely recalled an Omega cheerleader from last year. Carla. She had been a unique presence among them, tiny and bright and small-busted as she was, barely filling out her uniform but still matching the best of the girls backflip for backflip, every step of the way. Even so, her absence now went entirely unnoticed, and the other cheerleaders were unrepentant about it. She'd most likely found someone over the summer, bonded with them, and was now staying home in favor of raising children instead of coming back to school and rejoining the team. It was the right decision to make for an Omega.

As the old saying went . . . out of sight, out of mind. What was left unsaid, but held equal water with its truthfulness, was the fact that only the Omegas would be forgotten so easily. The whole of society said that they were never that important to begin with.

Alfred wondered if Alphas who were bonded with Omegas felt the same way. Did the Omegas ever receive _any_ sort of affection from their higher-type mates? Or was it just having sex and having kids, then skipping out to flirt and socialize again on the Alphas' parts? Did an Alpha ever get tired of being "tied down" to his or her Omega and just . . . leave?

He knew the answer to that last question too well. Of course it happened; being bonded wasn't a "forever" kind of thing. Nor was it even all that exclusive. The bonding process did involve scent and pheromone memory and other minute aspects of physical imprinting (a fancy way of saying that the bonds learned to recognize each other's "presence"), but when it really came down to it, it was more emotional than anything else. One bond could break it off by simply walking out, finding another mate, and never looking back — like Alfred's mom had done with her first mate, an Omega named John Williams. Except, instead of cutting him out of her life completely, she still went to visit him and the son they'd had (who, ironically, was born _after_ she'd mated with Alfred's dad and had Alfred) a couple of times a month.

It bothered Alfred's dad — which wasn't surprising, given how in love Alfred knew his dad was with his mom — but he was a Beta. He didn't have the wherewithal to stand up to Alfred's mom. He didn't have the right to protest her having one legitimate mate and a sort of half-mate when it was natural for an Alpha to do so.

_Doesn't help that she keeps silently dangling the threat of returning to Williams for good over Dad's head_, Alfred thought as he tried to eat his lunch and keep up with the cheerleaders' sweet, empty small talk at the same time. Then he shook himself. How did he go from thinking about Arthur to remembering Carla to worrying over his dysfunctional family? _My head's all over the place today, jeez. I have to stop thinking so much or I'll end up forgetting to tell Beller to forward all our class stuff to Arthur . . ._

In the end, what he really wanted to ask himself was, _If I were to bond with Arthur, would I be like Mom and get bored eventually and end up leaving him? Or would it be something solid and lasting, something close to forever?_ But since he was denying the fact that he could even be with Arthur as mates in the first place, on the grounds that it would be too awkward and too good to be true, it was nothing more than just pointless speculation.

Still, somewhere deep down, hope simmered in him like a tiny spark, waiting to grow into something real.

* * *

**A/N: The format of this entire chapter went and screwed up on me, so I had to fix every single dash and all the italics manually. Guh.**

**To answer a commonly asked question: [SPOILER ALERT] Yes, there will be US/others in this story. However, the main pairing of this story remains USUK.**

**Thank you for the reviews!**


	4. Three: When The World Comes to a Stop

**-x-x-x-**

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_**When The World Comes to a Stop**_

* * *

Over the next several days, Alfred didn't hear much from Arthur, even though he spent a good amount of his time staring down at his phone, debating whether or not to call him. He hadn't really gotten anywhere with that idea — hence all the phone-staring.

It was strange. In the past, Alfred had simply busied himself with his own life when Arthur withdrew from public for those ten or eleven days. Yeah, it was common for him to miss Arthur once in a while; but Alfred had kept it to himself the way he'd keep a secret to himself. By way of reasoning, he always imagined that Arthur's absence due to being in heat was similar to his absence while away on a trip. It was pretty much the same concept — in either situation, Arthur wasn't available for contact except by phone, and they didn't get to see each other face-to-face for the duration. But in the end, it hardly mattered, because Arthur always came back.

But this time . . . it mattered so much, and Alfred couldn't even figure out why. He was beginning to drive himself crazy thinking about Arthur nearly every waking moment. And to make it worse, he _dreamed_ about him each night, in a variety of increasingly compromising situations that, more often than not, had him blushing furiously in the morning and feeling dirty-minded because it was his _best friend_ — with whom he had a totally platonic relationship — that he kept getting it on with in his subconscious. None of this had ever happened before.

Well, okay, there was that one time when Arthur got the flu right after his heat ended and had to stay home for an additional four days after the obligated week and a half was over. But even that wasn't the same thing, because Alfred only started to really miss him near the end of week two, and he definitely hadn't had these godawfully perverted dreams about him at any point then.

And now, it was only the beginning of Arthur's break from the outside world, and Alfred was already feeling like he was losing it.

On the afternoon of day four, WA (without Arthur), Alfred sat on the burgundy sofa with his History textbook and a notebook, chewing on the cap of his pen as he tried to make sense of the questions presented at the end of the chapter they had just finished reviewing in class. He was actually distracted enough that, for once, his focus had shifted away from his turmoil of thoughts about Arthur to settle on something equally brain-boggling.

"What the hell is _zeitgeist_?" he wondered out loud. "And what does that have to do with the difference between Kennedy and Nixon's actions while they were in office?"

He felt too lazy to get up and find a dictionary. Would _zeitgeist_ even be in the dictionary? It sounded like . . . not English.

On to question two, then.

"'Based on your response to the previous question, do leaders always make rational decisions? Justify your answer with specific examples.'" Okay, he didn't do "the previous question," so . . .

"'Three: Do you think the United States is in decline? Why or why not? Include the terms _hegemony_, _world stage_, _sovereignty_, _domestic decay_, and _globalization_ in your answer. Also consider the analogies made comparing the U.S.'s power to that of Rome and the United Kingdom.'" Alfred stared hard at his notebook, willing the answer to miraculously write itself, because he honestly had no clue what to say. How should he know whether or not the U.S. was in decline? And what did _hegemony _mean again? Maybe he should've gotten the dictionary after all.

The sound of stiletto heels clicking down the stairs drew his attention away from his homework. Alfred looked up. _Oh_, he thought resentfully, _so she doesn't let me up the stairs with my sneakers on because she thinks I'll ruin the expensive woodwork, but she goes up and down them herself in those things whenever she wants? Seriously? They're so sharp, you could stab someone's eyes out with them. _He imagined one of her heels splintering comically through the wood and getting stuck, and smiled to himself.

Four seconds later, Danielle Jones emerged from the staircase and stepped elegantly down onto the marble-tiled living room floor. Her pale hair had been teased into shiny ringlets, most of which fanned out across her back in a ponytail. She wore a buttercup-yellow top with a plunging neckline that flattered her Alpha mark, white pants, a dark leather belt, and those notoriously high black stilettos. Ruby lipstick and diamond earrings completed the look; she was a goddess in her own home and virtually everywhere else.

Judging by her attire and makeup, Alfred thought she was probably on her way out for another photo shoot. But then again, that was pretty much how she dressed every day of the week. Hell would have to freeze over, thaw, and freeze again before Danielle Jones would condescend to pour her perfect body into anything that wasn't from Gucci, Louis Vuitton, or Victoria's Secret.

Her figure didn't, in the remotest sense, betray the fact that she had two teenage children. Neither did her face. The model purebred Alpha — that was what she was, in the most literal sense.

"Alfred." Danielle's voice was crisp and displeased.

_Here it comes._ "Hey, Mom."

"What" — there was the trademarked Danielle Jones emphasis on that word — "have I been telling you repeatedly about doing your homework on the sofa?"

Alfred rolled his eyes inwardly. "I'm not supposed to because it 'ruins the upholstery and is detrimental to my educational attitude.' Yeah, I know. I'll just . . ." He picked up his things and moved to the dining room, where he made a show of spreading his textbook and notebook out on the flat mahogany table and sliding into a chair.

"Thank you." Danielle walked briskly past him. "Your father will be home by dinner," she said over her shoulder, not bothering to check whether or not Alfred was listening. Mainly because she already knew for certain that he was, like she always did. "Tell him not to wait for me; I'm spending the evening out. And don't let me catch you slacking off on the sofa again. You know we only use it for company." A jangle of keys in the hallway, the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and the house fell into cool silence.

Alfred glared up at the elaborate crystal chandelier hanging above his head. "How old am I again?" he demanded at the air. "Six? Jesus Christ, Mom. It's just a sofa. And it's not like _it_gets to decide my friggin' future."

His phone vibrated in his pocket. An incoming call. Alfred pulled it out and checked the caller I.D. — and quickly pressed the call button once he saw who it was. "Arthur?" he said, puzzled but irrepressibly hopeful as he held the phone up to his ear. "Hey — what's up?"

"Al . . ." There seemed to be some interference on Arthur's end, blurring his words. Alfred struggled to make out what he was saying.

Then he realized there was no interference. Arthur was crying.

"Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Alfred rose abruptly out of his seat, panic rushing through him. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home —" The sound of knocking on Arthur's side. Arthur cursed. His voice became distant, as if he were holding the phone away from him. "I told you to _leave me alone_!" A pause. Someone else's voice, muffled and urgent. "I _don't_ want to come out and talk about it, Mum, all right? You've already made your damn point — just go away, I don't want to see any of you —"

Alfred's heart was beating double-time. He'd never heard Arthur sound so furious and broken. "Arthur — what's going on?"

"— not being overly emotional! My thoughts are pretty bloody clear, in fact, and so is my hearing. Just because I'm in heat doesn't mean I've gotten stupider overnight — will you shut up, Eileen? This has _absolutely nothing_ to do with you!" Arthur took a deep, rattling breath that rasped across the line like static. His voice got softer. "Alfred . . . I'm sorry about that. It's . . . I just . . ." He started to choke up again. "Goddamn it, why did my life turn out like this? I thought . . . I thought it was going well. I thought that everything was going to be fine, that I'll be able to live how I want to live. I've worked so hard for it to happen, so damn hard, but now . . . Alfred, what am I going to _do_ with myself?"

"Wait, Arthur. Hold on. What happened? What do you mean?" Alfred's mind raced as he tried to piece together what Arthur was saying. Had the dynamics of Arthur's family shifted in some way? He had been having a heated argument with them, that much was clear, but about what? Arthur rarely fought with his parents or any of his siblings; their higher types meant they naturally tried to avoid causing Arthur — the only Omega in their family — distress while he was so vulnerable, and aside from Arthur's sister, Eileen, none of them had the kind of passionate nature that was a magnet for disagreement in the first place. But now they seemed to be pitted against each other as resolutely as Alfred had ever seen or heard them.

"My parents withdrew me from school, that's what happened," Arthur said bitterly.

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, Alfred's grip on the phone tightened. "They _withdrew_ you? What the hell . . . Why?" He tried to comprehend the situation, even as his thoughts were already speeding ahead, mapping out the future. By leaving school, Arthur was being made to forgo his education . . . give up his dreams of going to college . . . submit to the authority of his parents . . .

There was a short silence on the other end. Then, reluctantly, as if Arthur was ashamed to admit it, "My doctor's orders . . . he's afraid my body won't be able to handle the stress that school puts on me anymore."

"Oh. . . . That really sucks, Arthur. I'm sorry." Alfred was careful to keep his tone strictly sympathetic. He knew Arthur hated pity, hated the reminder that there were certain things he'd never be able to do due to the restraints of his type. "So he doesn't want you to keep getting sick?"_ He had a fever last week while he was _going_; that's probably what his doctor was worried about._

"Something like that, yes. He also . . ." Arthur paused, and Alfred could almost feel him blush through the phone. "In addition to dropping school, he also wants me to settle down and . . . find a mate. To keep my heat cycles in check."

Of course, the only phrase that drew Alfred's complete attention was "find a mate." Something inside him twinged almost painfully with longing. God, he wanted a mate, too. But not just any mate. He wanted . . . now it was Alfred's turn to go red up to his ears. "What's wrong with your cycles?" he asked a bit too quickly in his hurry to cover up his thoughts. Thankfully, Arthur didn't appear to notice. "They seem pretty, you know, regular to me."

_Oh, jeez. That's even more awkward. I sound like I've been keeping track of his cycles like a total stalker._

"Well, it's sort of hard to explain." Arthur sounded a bit awkward, too. So at least that evened things out. "It's been happening so gradually that I haven't really noticed anything. But now, looking back, I guess I can see how things have been changing. I used to be able to tell exactly when I start to go into heat — almost like having an internal heat clock, you see? But over the past year or so, it's gotten harder and harder for me to gauge it accurately. Remember the day we got our tests back from Beller? When we were walking home together, and you asked me if I was _going_, and I had no clue that I was until you pointed it out? It's been like that. It's almost like it's been . . . creeping up on me. I guess you're better than me at calculating my cycles now," he added sheepishly.

Alfred's heart thumped in a way that Alfred thought was completely irrational. He swallowed. "Uh, thanks. I think."

Arthur made a flustered noise, but became serious again as he continued. "My cycles have been lengthening, too — by a few hours, or a day, barely enough to be noticeable. But they've also gotten . . . a lot more intense. It's wreaking havoc on my body. Every cold I have seems to either last longer than it should or develop into something worse, and my mood swings are so wild now that sometimes they scare even me. Not to mention . . ." He trailed off.

No need to go there. They both knew what he was talking about. Omegas really weren't bought toys for nothing.

"I can barely concentrate most of the time while I'm in heat. Sometimes . . . I can't even remember what I've done or what I was doing just half an hour ago. The only things that keep me from drifting all the time are my own emotions." Arthur sounded frustrated. "My mind feels like a . . . a balloon. It's tied to something that's stopping it from floating away, but it's like that line could break any time, and then I'll rise up and be lost in the atmosphere and I won't be able to come back down."

Alfred considered that. "Are you okay now? I mean like, right now? You're talking to me and everything, and you don't sound all that loopy." _At least, not to me._

"That's because I'm forcing myself to focus. You don't know how hard it is. I can barely manage to put together a coherent thought most of the time, and it exhausts me when I try." Arthur _did_ sound tired. And his voice was starting to get more and more distant, like he was on the verge of dozing off. "I just . . . want it all to stop. I'm so tired of it. It feels like I'm spending more time in heat than I am in a normal state. And I . . ." He swallowed audibly. "I want someone to touch me."

"Uh . . ." _Oh, God. _Alfred couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Arthur. It felt surreal. How in the world was he supposed to respond?

"N-not necessarily like _that_!" Arthur hastily amended. "I mean, all right, _yes_, like that because I'm in heat. But not just that. It's — I miss human contact while I'm isolated. I just want to be close to someone. I feel . . . exposed. I want someone to be nearby, to . . . to be there to protect me. I know it sounds pathetic . . ." He seemed to wilt.

Alfred still didn't know what to say. His mouth had gone dry, and his tongue felt sandy and too big for his mouth. He wanted, badly, to reciprocate Arthur's sentiments. But he didn't have the excuse of being an Omega in heat. He was an Alpha. He was supposed to have control over himself. But damn, he wouldn't have turned down Arthur if he'd asked, no matter what anyone else had to say. . . .

"Al?" Arthur's voice was a tiny thread of sound.

"Y-yeah?"

"Are you free?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Can you . . . come over to see me?"

Alfred clutched the phone. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. The connection between them vibrated with expectancy. "Arthur," he finally said, "you know what you're asking for, right?"

For a moment, Arthur said nothing. Then he sighed. "It's the hormones speaking for me. I'm sorry. You don't have to come."

"No." Alfred made up his mind. He was going to regret it. He was going to regret it so much. But he couldn't leave Arthur like that. It made his chest ache, like he was losing something important to him, something that he wouldn't be able to get back. "I'm coming over. I'll see you in a few minutes, okay?"

"Alfred —"

"Just wait for me. I'll be there soon." Alfred hung up and, abandoning his homework, left the house.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I think I love this AU a little too much. By the way, there ****_might_**** be non-explicit others/UK in the future. It depends on where the story goes. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter - please leave a review letting me know what you think of it!**


	5. Four: The First of Many

**-x-x-x-**

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_Chapter Four_

_**The First of Many**_

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Alfred managed to run three-fourths of the way to Arthur's house before his brain finally caught up with his body and realized exactly what he was doing. It wasn't enough to stop him, though. Or even slow him down.

If anything, it actually made his legs go faster, in spite of the heat that rose up in his cheeks and the apprehension and guilt that pooled in his stomach. The sidewalk seemed to fly past under his feet. In no time at all, he was tripping and stumbling up the wooden front steps of the Kirkland house and ringing the doorbell — only to discover that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to whoever was going to answer the door. Oh, God, what if it was Arthur's mom? He couldn't just blurt out, "Hey, Mrs. K, your son called me and told me to come over because he's in heat and we're both horny as hell. May I see him?" and expect that he wouldn't get booted before he even got a foot past the door.

For several long, long seconds, nothing happened. Then Alfred heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door from the inside. All the air suddenly seemed to go out of his lungs; his heart was pounding so hard that his pulse throbbed in his fingertips.

There was a click as the door was unlocked, and it swung open to reveal Mrs. Kirkland.

_Oh, crap. Just my luck._

As Alfred scrabbled mentally for the appropriate thing to say, Mrs. Kirkland regarded him with silent appraisal, lips pursed. Her reaction threw Alfred for a loop — he thought she'd be angry or protective, or surprised at the very least. But no, she seemed to be . . . _expecting _him, though her demeanor seemed to convey the idea that he was more like an unwelcome guest in her household than Arthur's close friend. Had Arthur told her that Alfred was coming? No, he wouldn't have done that so soon after just having an argument with her. _What's going on?_ Alfred wondered, but before he could figure it out, Mrs. Kirkland spoke.

"I suppose Arthur has told you everything, hasn't he?" Alfred opened his mouth, but shut it again when it became apparent that she wasn't actually looking for an answer. "Well . . . what's done is done, and what's said is said. There's no point in mincing words now, so I'll be straightforward. He won't say so outright, but he's chosen you as his mate — as I'm sure you know already."

Alfred flushed. Hearing it said aloud just made it seem so much more real. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Kirkland eyed him critically for a moment, then sighed. She glanced over her shoulder at the staircase to the second floor, and it almost seemed like she was expecting Arthur to appear, but, of course, he didn't. She turned back to Alfred, a stray reddish curl slipping loose from her ponytail to touch her cheek, and said less sternly, "I have five children . . . four fine sons and a beautiful daughter. They're blessings, each and every one of them. But Arthur . . . Arthur is precious to me in a different way. A special way. He is my middle baby, sandwiched between his more vocal brothers and sister and forever being pushed out of the frame. He is the only Omega in our family — though heaven forbid him from allowing that to hinder him. His dreams and goals are ambitious enough to rival those of James, my Alpha son."

She made steady eye contact with Alfred, her green eyes full of quiet pride and sadness. "It hurts me deep inside that his father and I had to make him give up his dreams for his own sake," she said softly. "The least we can do now is ensure that his sacrifice is not without any meaning or benefit to him. That's why we'll allow you into our family as his mate, Alfred. He's always been attached to you, and over the years you've proved yourself to be a good and trustworthy friend to him, as well as an honest, caring young man to us. All I ask now is that you continue to be that friend and that young man when you've become his mate." She took a deep breath, her eyes never wavering from Alfred's. "Will you do that, Alfred Jones? Will you take good care of my son, and treat him well?"

_She loves him_, Alfred realized, with a pang in his chest. _She does so much for him and she even risks having him be mad at her for taking away his dreams because she loves him. _"Yes, ma'am," he said without hesitation, and was pleasantly surprised by the strength in his own voice. His sincerity was unmistakable to either of them. "Yes, I will."

Mrs. Kirkland nodded, tentative relief in her face, and gestured for him to come inside. After getting his sneakers off, Alfred started for the foot of the stairs — then paused, looking back at her, uncertain. Was it okay for him to go see Arthur now, or did she want to keep talking with him?

"He's upstairs in his room," was all Mrs. Kirkland said. And Alfred took that to be the permission he'd been waiting for.

He took the stairs two at a time — he would have tried three, but he could still feel Mrs. Kirkland's eyes on his back and it was already awkward enough without adding the possibility of him tripping and falling on his face — and glanced around quickly once he reached the landing. It had been months since he'd last been inside Arthur's house; ever since they both hit puberty, it hadn't been "safe" for Alfred to visit Arthur often. Omega pheromones were powerful in a confined area and doubly so in an Omega's living space, even when the Omega wasn't in heat. Alfred hadn't wanted to be anything more than friends with Arthur back then, and he was sure that Arthur had felt the same way, so he'd done his best to avoid putting the two of them in a compromising position by keeping his physical distance.

It was different now, though. Now . . . all Alfred could think about was finding Arthur and mating with him. _Claiming_ him. _God, I feel like such an animal_, he thought, but instead of making him ashamed, the thought just caused his hormones to spike.

Arthur's room was at the end of the hallway, next to one of the bathrooms — Alfred remembered randomly that Arthur had his own door to the bathroom for his convenience, and that the hallway door to that bathroom was always locked from the inside whenever Arthur was in heat to give him some privacy from the rest of the family. Alfred had no idea why he remembered that; it was like being back in Arthur's house was waking up memories that he hadn't realized he had.

Six paces brought him to Arthur's door, which was shut tightly. Alfred raised his hand, hesitated, then knocked gently on the wood. There was no response. He tried again, and half-whispered into the seam between door and frame, "Arthur?"

Still nothing.

"Arthur, it's me. Alfred. I'm here to see you, like I said I would be." Alfred swallowed. "Are you — are you okay?"

It seemed like the silence would stretch on for forever, and the doubts that had been hovering just out of sight began to gather in his gut. He was seriously — and unhappily — considering if he'd made a mistake and if he should just go back home when Arthur finally said, voice muffled by the door, "It's not locked." And it turned out to be true, because Alfred suddenly found himself standing in the middle of Arthur's room, having turned the knob and stepped inside with his body, once again, operating independently from his mind.

What struck him right off the bat was the scent. Arthur's scent. Hot, edgy, almost salty, it literally saturated the air; Alfred's lungs felt thick with it, and his mind was nearly overwhelmed by its potency. It was astounding. He could _smell_ that Arthur was fertile. He could _smell_ that Arthur needed sex, needed to be mounted — he could actually taste the pheromones and the hormonal invitation of Arthur's willing flesh on his tongue. It was so immediate, so intimate that Alfred was nearly convinced that, even if he'd never set eyes on Arthur, he would have been able to describe his appearance, every private area of his body, by scent alone.

He felt, to put it bluntly, very much like he'd been hit in the face; his eyes were having trouble believing that Arthur's Omega pheromones hadn't made the actual air as hazy as it appeared to be inside his head.

"Arthur?" It came out half-shocked, half-breathless. God, his skin was _tingling_. How was he supposed to handle this? He'd only just walked into the room and he already felt like he was slipping closer to insanity. Wait, no, that wasn't right — it wasn't insanity that was overcoming him, but his primal instincts. The instincts that any animal had. The instincts that had started working on him at the same time as puberty. His own body knew that it was mature enough to breed, to impregnate another human, and its urge to do just that had never been more arresting or overpowering, his defenses against it never lower.

_Is this what Alphas go through every time they're near an Omega in heat?_

"Alfred . . . ?" Arthur — he was there, physically _there_, his presence pure heat — was on the bed, curled in the corner against the wall. For a second, Alfred just stared, and the small part of his brain that was still functioning properly wondered when and why Arthur had turned into a huge, shapeless cocoon with eyes. Then Arthur's nose and cheeks and mouth came into view and Alfred realized he resembled a soon-to-be butterfly because he'd taken his duvet and three or so blankets and wrapped them completely around himself until only his face was visible.

Arthur slowly wriggled his way out of the pile of comforters, and Alfred saw with a tightening throat that he was wearing only boxer shorts and a thin undershirt. He started to crawl toward the edge of the bed, but his limbs seemed too weak to hold him up, and he collapsed on his side and curled pitifully into a fetal position, like his first instinct was to try to protect himself and his own vulnerability. His whole body quivered. "Alfred," he whispered again, and to Alfred's shock, he began to cry, silent tears coursing down his cheeks to dampen the bedspread.

Under normal circumstances, Alfred would have sat down next to Arthur and tried to talk him out of his unhappiness, maybe patted his shoulder awkwardly in an attempt to comfort him. He had always done his best to keep at least a small bit of distance between them, careful not to go beyond the limits of innocent friendship. It used to be simple. Somewhat forced, but still simple. This, however . . . this was new, unfamiliar territory. Alfred had no time to overthink his own actions, or to plan them out ahead of time, mainly because there was no _need_ to. Arthur was his friend, but he was also going to be his mate. The boundaries had been removed. It was okay for them to do things that they hadn't been allowed to do before.

So Alfred did what came naturally: he lowered himself down onto the mattress and, without a word, folded Arthur into his arms.

Arthur's fingers dug instinctively, pathetically, into his shirt, and Alfred felt him bury his face into the side of his neck, his breath soft on his collarbone. His tears were warm and slippery on his skin.

The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable or embarrassing or clumsy. It felt right, and Alfred was content to let it go on for as long as necessary — as long as it was helping Arthur, as long as it was healing his sadness.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was that of the two of them breathing together. Then Arthur shifted, and said, muffled against his neck, "I hate . . . being like this all the time. I hate it." It was clear that he was talking about himself.

Alfred just held him and listened.

"I hate being in heat. I hate being helpless. I hate that I can't go to school anymore." Arthur's voice cracked. "I hate my parents for taking my studies away from me, and I hate that I have to let them do it. I hate that I can't even think straight, that I have to be stuck in here for ten days out of every sixty, that I'm always sick, that I won't have a future except as a — a mother becoming pregnant over and over and doing nothing but raising children. And I hate being an Omega." He shuddered with another quiet sob. "I . . . really hate being an Omega."

"No," Alfred said. His arms tightened around Arthur. "Don't say that, Artie. Don't hate something that's a part of you. "

"That's exactly why I hate it. It _is _a part of me, and it holds me back from everything I might have done, everything I might have achieved. It's the damned part of me that makes me hate myself and wish I never existed —"

"Stop." Alfred pulled back and cupped the sides of Arthur's face and tugged him up to eye level. "Stop it. Do you even hear what you're saying?" he asked, with a hint of anger. Arthur's watery green eyes met his, huge with bewilderment. "Don't you _dare_ say that — don't you dare even think that! Arthur, don't you have any idea how many people care about you? Don't you have any idea how many people love you?" Alfred paused and, swallowing, gently wiped away Arthur's tears with his thumbs. He tried to compose himself, and continued speaking in a calmer tone. "Your mom talked to me when I got here. Yeah, she and your dad might've taken you out of school, but that doesn't mean they don't love you. They did it _for _you — everything they've done is for you. It kills your mom that it makes you so unhappy, you know? It's because you're the frigging apple in her eye. If she had a choice, I bet she would've let you continue senior year. Hell, I bet your parents already had your college fund ready before your doctor told them you couldn't go to school anymore. That's how much they love you."

Arthur looked like he was about to interrupt, but Alfred wouldn't let him. "And what you said about being an Omega — sure, it's a part of you, but it doesn't make you_ who you are_. Get it? You are the person _you_ decide to be, not your DNA. Don't you ever think you're not worth it or whatever, because you are. Do you know what I see what I look at you?" Arthur shook his head minutely. "Okay, I'll tell you then: I see a hard-working, kind, funny, compassionate, ambitious, super-smart, and totally awesome friend. You're the most amazing person I've ever met, Artie, and I'm saying that after knowing you for forever. That's why I can't believe you don't want to exist. Whatever the hell you see in yourself that you hate so much, it's not there. Do you get me? It's not _there_. And you shouldn't let it hold you back."

Alfred finally stopped talking to catch his breath. He felt winded, and lightheaded. But he also felt satisfied that he'd gotten his point across, and he definitely had if the fact that Arthur had stopped crying and was now wearing a slightly stunned look was anything to go by.

After everything Alfred said had properly registered, they just looked at each other. After a moment, Arthur laid his hand over Alfred's, which was still on his cheek, and breathed, "Do you care about me?" His face was reddening under Alfred's fingers, but he seemed determined not to look away. His eyes held some nameless, fragile emotion. "Y-you were talking about my parents . . . when you said that a lot of people care about me, but . . . do you? Care about me?" His hand trembled, like he wanted to hope, but was afraid of what Alfred's answer would be.

_I do care about you. A lot more than you know._ Alfred said gently, "Yeah. Come on, do you even have to ask?"

"I suppose not." Arthur was persuaded into a soft smile. He relaxed; Alfred felt the tension seep out of his muscles, leaving him warmer, more malleable. "I . . . guess I knew. All along."

"Duh. You're such an idiot, Artie."

"Oh, so I'm not 'super-smart,' as you said earlier?" Now Arthur was teasing, and Alfred silently thanked God for his uplifted mood before pulling him close again. Arthur wiggled a little, flustered, and finally managed to get comfortable in Alfred's lap. "A-and it's 'apple _of_ her eye,' you know."

"What?"

"The expression. It's _of_, not _in_. Now who's the idiot?"

"Still you. 'Cause you know way too much random stuff," Alfred joked. "But you are super-smart, though. Really super-smart." And because they were already impossibly close together and he'd been waiting for what felt like forever and he _had_ to know what it felt like, he tilted his head back and caught Arthur's mouth with his own when Arthur started to respond.

Whoever said that first kisses were always awkward and horrible was a liar, or just hadn't liked the person they'd kissed very much. Arthur froze in surprise when their lips touched, but he thawed quickly, and then Alfred wondered how in the world he could have thought he knew Arthur inside-out when he'd never tasted the melted sugar-sweetness of his mouth. He didn't exactly know what he was doing — he'd never kissed anyone before — and Arthur didn't seem to be any better off, but instead of feeling shortchanged, Alfred was elated. Their shared inexperience spoke volumes of sensory information, and it provided the single confirmation that this really _was_ a first. Alfred's first, Arthur's first, _their_ first, and no one else's.

They both forgot to breathe, and Alfred was panting when they parted for air. Arthur immediately tucked his head back into the groove of Alfred's shoulder, his arms coming up to latch around Alfred's neck, his chest heaving lightly.

"Arthur," Alfred whispered.

"Yes?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to say your name."

"You dolt," Arthur murmured, not unaffectionately. He inhaled, then let his breath out again in a shuddering sigh. "Would you . . . mind closing the curtains for me? If — if we're going to — well, I don't want the neighbors watching us." He reluctantly detached himself from Alfred and slid back down onto the bed, once again curling up in the blankets like a caterpillar.

"What's wrong?" Alfred looked down at him, concerned. "Are you still sick?"

"No, I just haven't eaten in the past few days, so I don't have much energy," Arthur confessed.

"Oh." Alfred got up, pulled the curtains across the single window, and was about to rejoin Arthur on the bed in the comfortable semi-darkness when Arthur's words fully sank in. "Wait. You mean you haven't eaten _anything_? At all? Dude, that's not good —"

Arthur shook his head. "I'll be fine. It's always like this when I'm in heat. Food does nothing but upset my stomach, and I'd rather not waste my time feeling nauseous when I could be spending it . . ." He blushed, and held his arms out to Alfred.

"Having sex?" Alfred suggested as the mattress creaked under his knee. The word sent a shiver up his spine, but in the most pleasant way. They fitted themselves together in a sprawl of arms and legs, and then it was his turn to nuzzle Arthur as he pressed his nose into the hollow behind Arthur's ear. His scent was concentrated, heady, irresistible. Arthur's hands came up to tentatively touch his shoulders, his neck, his temples before settling in his hair, slim fingers stroking his scalp with a sort of tender, quiet wonder.

"I was actually going to say 'spending it with you,' but I suppose that works, too," he said, sounding amused. Alfred snorted, and pulled back to hover on his elbows so he could look at Arthur. Arthur had such naturally pale skin, but it served to bring out the color in his eyes and in his lips. He had the Kirkland cheekbones — high, curved, regal — and a slender nose that had a slight bump, from the time he'd broken it when they were kids. Alfred leaned down and kissed that bump now, feeling the flutter of Arthur's eyelashes against his chin. Arthur laughed softly before tugging him down into a proper kiss. Their second one, just as good as the first.

They were so playful, so gentle with each other that it was almost like a game. It didn't feel strange at all, the transition from close friends to mates, because it wasn't mutually exclusive in the least. They were best friends; they would always be best friends, and the new feelings that were surfacing did nothing to change that. Alfred knew it was too early to call what they had "love," but he didn't mind because somehow, it was too inadequate a description anyway. The emotions between them weren't just romantic, or platonic, or familial. They were something else entirely, something that didn't overshadow their close-knit friendship and yet, at the same time, managed to transcend it. Alfred didn't have a word for it. But that didn't seem important.

He was content, and Arthur was content, and that was all that mattered. They explored each other's touch and their shared newfound pleasure until they were both replete and heavy with drowsiness.

Afterward, Alfred let his head fall down on Arthur's chest. He listened to his rapid heartbeat for a minute, listened to it regain its steadiness, and sighed with satisfaction and exhaustion. Arthur slowly unwound his thighs from Alfred's hips, mirroring him with a tired sigh of his own. They were both still for a while, waiting for the rush to fade and return them back to their senses.

Alfred broke the silence first. He raised his head up and, quietly admiring his view of Arthur's flushed face, asked, "It doesn't hurt, does it?" Being an Alpha, he'd knotted, and Arthur was now snugly tight around him, keeping him inside.

"Not really." Arthur shifted a little. "It's . . . a bit of a stretch, but . . . it feels nice," he admitted. Alfred felt a small thrill — not only because Arthur was subconsciously rippling around him with every movement, but also because Arthur's response showed that he was comfortable enough with Alfred that he no longer felt the need to hide his real feelings behind walls of dignity and embarrassment. "So how long should we expect it to last?"

"Hmm? What?"

"Your knot, I mean."

"Uh . . ." Alfred wracked his sleepy brain. "Health class was like centuries ago . . . I don't remember anymore. I think half an hour, maybe? Twenty minutes? Not too long." He yawned. "God, I'm so frigging tired. Let's take a nap. I can't keep my eyes open anymore."

"Mmm." Resting his head back on his pillow, Arthur closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams, Artie."

"You, too."

Alfred tucked his head into the now-familiar crook of Arthur's neck — feeling his reassuring touch on his bare back as the duvet was pulled over the two of them — and used the last of his energy to find Arthur's other hand and twine their fingers together. Arthur gave him a small squeeze in return. They fell asleep holding hands, still wrapped around each other like vine flowers, complete.

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**A/N: A friend read my fic the other day and asked me, "Why the hell are the Omegas in this story so much like the American housewives of the 1950s/1960s?" Heh. Well . . . it was 94% unintentional. I'll leave you guys to wonder what I was thinking for the other 6%.**

**It still kind of amazes me that I can go from writing violent, gut-wrenching angst (_TCOA_) to risque (?) fluff (**_**WFMTM**_**). That said, please do realize that the former is more of my "trademark style," which means that when I write a story, there will be angst in it. And when I write angst, it's serious angst. So . . . just a warning for the future. Yup. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Five: Satisfied But Guilty as Hell

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_Chapter Five_

_**Satisfied But Guilty as Hell**_

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After waking up from their peaceful nap, they found that they were both far from sated. In fact, they were insatiable. It was like once they began having sex, they just couldn't _stop_, even though the basic biology of their bodies prevented them from coupling properly again until Alfred's knot had gone away and the weak, fuzzy feeling in his limbs had been replaced with testosterone-powered energy. Even during those frustrating refractory periods, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was actually while they were waiting for Alfred's drive to catch up between rounds that they discovered new things about each other's bodies — Alfred mapped out Arthur's most sensitive places (the side of his neck, behind his ear, his nipples, his belly button, the insides of his thighs) and teased them endlessly, making sure that Arthur stayed incoherent as afternoon gave way to evening, and evening melted into night. Arthur was more than willing to return the favor, though he was more tentative, his touch as delicate as down.

They had to draw a couple of lines even in the heat of it all — "Alfred, no, i-it's not like I don't want to, but we really shouldn't." "Why not?" "What if you knot in my mouth by accident?" "Oh, yeah . . . that'd be a problem, huh?" — but for the most part, they just went with the flow, letting their instincts tug them along and wash their senses clean with pleasure. And thankfully, for the most part, their mating went uninterrupted. Arthur's family was probably glad to leave them in peace. In return, Alfred and Arthur tried to keep the noise level down to a minimum, because it went without saying that the only thing more awkward than knowing your Omega son or brother was having thorough and very satisfying heat-sex was actually having to listen to it all night through the walls.

So the actual disruption didn't come in the form of one of Arthur's family members. It came in the form of a buzzing sound, and it was loud and abrupt enough to startle them into freezing.

After a few seconds, Alfred raised his head up from where he'd been licking diligent circles in Arthur's soft navel, glancing around in confusion. Likewise, Arthur twisted his head to the side and blinked a few times, disoriented.

"Is that your phone?" he asked hazily.

"Yeah, I think so. Who'd call me at a time like —" The fog in Alfred's head cleared in an instant as horror dawned on him. "Oh, crap. My dad — I forgot — shit, shit, shit!" He stumbled off the bed in a creak of springs and rooted through the heap of discarded clothes until he found his jeans. Once he'd gotten his phone out, he answered it in a hurry. "Hello?"

"Alfred, where are you?" Thomas Jones's voice was tired and clearly worried.

"Uh . . ." Alfred looked at Arthur, who had risen up on his elbows and drawn the comforter self-consciously across his front, his pale, naked skin faintly aglow, his eyes large in the dark room. His small, supple Omega body was gorgeous — and, at the moment, it was a distraction Alfred couldn't afford. Alfred pulled his eyes away reluctantly. "I'm at a friend's," he said, thinking quickly. "For a sleepover. I forgot to tell you."

"A sleepover? You didn't pack any of your things, and you have school tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh, my friend said I could borrow some of his stuff to wear for the night. It's fine, I'll be back in the morning before school —" Then Alfred remembered he'd left his homework unfinished on the dining table at home, where his dad had undoubtedly found it. "Um . . ."

Thomas sighed. Alfred could almost imagine him rubbing his eyelids with thumb and forefinger. "Alfred, why don't you try telling me the truth? The whole truth. You know you're not supposed to be out on a school night. Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

Anyone else's dad would probably have been yelling, and threatening to dish out a suitable punishment upon his son's return. But Alfred's dad had always been lenient, especially compared to his mom. Alfred felt awful for bothering him like this. His dad had enough things to worry about already; he didn't need to add Alfred traipsing around in the middle of the night to the list. On the other hand, Alfred was afraid that it wasn't actually physically possible for him to leave Arthur. Even now, his chest felt empty just because they weren't touching, and the hormones in his body were digging red-hot needles into his joints and his groin, nagging at him to get back in bed with Arthur and finish what they'd started.

Alfred clung to the fact that his dad was an understanding person in general, prayed that he would be particularly understanding in this situation, and took a gamble with the truth. "Dad . . . I can't come home tonight. I — I mated with Arthur."

There was a moment of silence. Then Thomas said, in an uncomprehending tone, "You what?"

"I mated with Arthur." Alfred swallowed. "You know . . . Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. My friend. I'm at his house right now, and I don't really think I can leave. I'm sorry, Dad. I have to stay with him." He wasn't sure if his dad remembered Arthur. Despite Alfred and Arthur's long-standing friendship, Arthur and Alfred's dad hadn't seen each other more than two or three times in the past several years.

Thomas was clearly bewildered. And possibly disapproving, but Alfred couldn't tell for sure. "Arthur Kirkland . . . William and Catherine Kirkland's son? When did this happen?"

"Uh, this afternoon. I came over to see him, and he was in heat, and I guess we weren't really thinking . . ." Alfred's voice sounded weak to his own ears, so he trailed off, clutching the phone. His dad was quiet for a solid half minute. Unable to help himself, and uncomfortable with the silence, Alfred let his gaze wander to Arthur again, and Arthur looked back uncertainly. He suddenly seemed so tiny and vulnerable among the sheets, his thin shoulders hunched as if warding off the cold. Alfred wanted to hold him, to hug him close. He was about to get up from the floor and do just that when Thomas finally spoke again.

"Okay," he said. He sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "All right, I'll call the school tomorrow and let them know that you won't be going, so you can stay with Arthur."

Relief bubbled up Alfred's chest. "Thanks —"

"Hold on, Alfred. I'm not done. Since tomorrow is Friday, you can make up the work you'll miss over the weekend through APort. However, I expect you to be home by Saturday morning to do that make-up work, and to have a talk with your mother and me. We'll work everything out from there. And if we reach an agreement before the weekend is over, you can spend the rest of the time until Monday with Arthur. Does that sound fair?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. Thanks, Dad."

"We're going to have a lot of things to discuss on Saturday, though, Alfred," Thomas said soberingly. "About the future. Your mother isn't going to be very happy with the decision you've made, especially since you made it without consulting her beforehand. And I hope you realize that your actions will have consequences." Unspoken was the implication that despite whatever concessions Thomas made now, it was Alfred's mom, Danielle, who — as the head Alpha in their family — would ultimately have the greater say in things in the long run. Alfred closed his eyes.

"I know. But it's not like she can stop me."

Thomas sighed again. "We'll talk more about this on Saturday, with your mother present. Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, Dad. Love you. Bye." Alfred hung up and stared down at his phone, temporarily at a loss. He'd gotten his way, and part of him was glad — and happy — that he would get to spend more time with Arthur. But the other part was busy mulling over Thomas's words and forcing him to face reality: it wasn't a question of whether or not Danielle _could_ stop him, but a question of _how_ and _when_. Because she would stop him if she wanted to. She could tear him right out of Arthur's arms and forbid them from ever seeing each other again, and there would be nothing either Alfred or his dad could do about it. That was the kind of power she wielded over them.

_I hope she won't start playing God any more than she already does_, Alfred thought, and pushed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, suddenly weary.

A moment later, he felt Arthur's arms encircle his middle, his comforting warmth at his back. "Alfred?" Arthur whispered. "Is everything all right? Will your father let you stay?"

"Yeah. I can stay." Alfred turned his head and pressed a blind kiss to Arthur's lips over his shoulder. Arthur kissed him back. After a minute, they pulled apart, and Arthur — with an air of quiet understanding and sympathy — led him back into bed. Alfred wrapped himself around Arthur's slim frame, reaching down to fondle Arthur's sex while Arthur threaded his fingers slowly through Alfred's hair. They didn't say anything more about the exchange between Alfred and his dad. There wouldn't have been any point. All they could do now was make the most of their remaining time together . . . and wait to see what would happen next.

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**A/N: A shorter chapter this time, because I haven't had the time to write more. The title is a line from Maroon 5's "One More Night." I'm tired and stressed and have way too much crap I need to work on, so I'll spare you guys my usual babbling. See you next chapter!**

**(Psst . . . if you've read or are reading my story _The Cost of Affection_, please check out the new poll at the top of my profile!)**


	7. Six: The Calm Before the Storm

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_Chapter Six_

_**The Calm Before the Storm**_

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Alfred was exhausted. He'd lost count of how many times they'd had sex — not that he was really counting, but God, they'd both gone from frustrated virgins to well-fucked mates in about twelve hours, adjusting to the changes like they were the most natural things in the world. The physical imprinting was done; now Arthur's scent, instead of being merely enticing, revealed volumes about the state of his body, his needs, even the general atmosphere of his moods. His presence was warm, firm, and reliable in its steadiness. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter, not even the thought of Alfred's impending family conference. They were in their own private, holistic bubble for the time being.

Alfred was sure it was the same the other way around, too. Arthur could now sense him as acutely, and rely on him as an anchor, as Alfred could Arthur. It was the lifting of barriers; the attainment of a whole new dimension of perception, a whole new level of intimacy. Yet, instead of feeling disoriented and overwhelmed (common reactions to mating for the first time, according to the half-forgotten health lessons in his head), Alfred welcomed it like he'd been waiting for it all his life. They'd gotten so comfortable with each other, and so fast, that one could almost be fooled into thinking that they'd never known anything different.

_Almost_ being the key word, however. It didn't take too long for Alfred to realize that despite their physical familiarity with each other, they still had some ground to cover when it came to communication.

At sometime around early dawn, Arthur started tossing and turning. His bed was decently sized — big enough to accommodate the both of them — but there wasn't much elbow-room. Alfred was jostled into the surreal state between sleep and wakefulness. Before he could react, however, Arthur calmed down, facing the wall and wrapped up into a tighter ball.

It was pretty cute, Alfred thought dreamily, the way Omegas tended to curl themselves up out of habit like kittens, especially while they were asleep or feeling vulnerable. He moved his sleep-heavy arm over Arthur's slim waist, scooted a little closer so that he was spooning Arthur's back, and gave in to slumber once more. Arthur's soft, needy whimper completely escaped his notice.

After a few more minutes, Arthur started shifting around again. There was a light rustling sound under the sheets, which was quickly followed by a stretch of quiet. Then he whispered, "Alfred?"

Alfred grunted in response.

"Al?"

"Mm . . . wha?"

Arthur shuddered. "I —" His body went tense for a second before he slowly pushed himself up, dislodging Alfred's arm. "I . . ." He clearly wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, like he'd changed his mind at the last second. After a heartbeat or two, he quietly slipped off the end of the bed, leaving a warm, empty space next to Alfred, and Alfred half-listened to him open a drawer, take something out, and pad into the bathroom. The door closed softly behind him.

Alfred opened his eyes. _Is he okay?_ he wondered, trying to blink the bleariness from his vision. _Should I go check on him?_ He breathed in deeply, tasting the air, but unfortunately, he couldn't detect Arthur's scent with a wall separating them. All he got was the heavy, musky smell left over from their heat-sex, which was strong enough to mask pretty much everything else.

_Maybe he's . . . ,_ he began to think a bit uneasily, but before that thought could come to fruition, Arthur re-emerged from the bathroom and crawled back under the covers as silently as he'd left.

Worries eased, Alfred nuzzled at the back of Arthur's neck, feeling the tickle of his messy hair on his nose. Arthur melted into his touch. After it became clear that things were fine, Alfred contented himself with sharing his pillow, cuddling his newly-claimed Omega mate/best friend, and going back to sleep.

_Click_.

Arthur jerked once against his chest, then settled again with a soft sigh. His body was suddenly warm and pliable, his muscles lax, his scent tinged with something like relief. Alfred's eyes flew open again.

"What was _that_?"

Arthur froze in his arms. "What was what?"

"That sound. The clicking."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. . . ."

Was that guilt Alfred sensed? As if Arthur's stutter wasn't enough of a giveaway, Alfred pressed his nose into Arthur's shoulder and inhaled. Yeah, that was definitely the smell of guilt. "Artie, what're you up to?"

"Nothing!" Arthur insisted, blushing hotly. He rolled towards the wall, out of Alfred's embrace. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

"C'mon, I swore I heard —" This time, Alfred was the one who sat up. Arthur had bundled himself up tightly in the blankets, refusing to meet his eyes, ears red. There was a brief, awkward silence. Then Alfred furrowed his brow in disbelief as he put two and two together. "You — that clicking sound — wait, are you using a . . . a _dildo_ or something?"

Arthur spluttered an incoherent denial that might as well have been a confession. Seeking real confirmation, Alfred pulled the covers back and, ignoring all protests, boldly nudged Arthur's knees apart. There they were: the telltale length of cord and the controller at the end of it. Arthur had used the former to secure the latter to the outside of his left leg, the cord wound around his thigh and tied to keep the tiny plastic device in place — the same device he now had his hand over in a desperate attempt to conceal it. The vibrator itself was tucked up inside him, out of view.

"Why?" Alfred was kind of hurt. "Why do you need that thing? I mean, you have me, don't you?" He felt his face flush to match Arthur's, but he plowed on. "You could've just _asked_ if you wanted to . . . you know, instead of . . . it's not like we haven't done it about ten times already!"

Arthur was shaking his head, trying to clamp his knees together again to preserve whatever was left of his dignity. "No, that's not . . . It's not what it looks like," he mumbled, covering his eyes with his free hand.

"What's that supposed to mean? It's exactly what it looks like; you have a vibrator up your —"

"It's not _just_ a sex toy, all right? It helps me relax."

More awkward silence. Both of them were breathing hard, though for all the wrong reasons. Finally, Alfred blinked. "It helps you _relax_?" he repeated dubiously. Arthur nodded, hand still over his face.

"I-it's an Omega instinct during heat. Needing something . . . inside. Filling me. Not for s-sexual gratification, but because . . . it takes away the constant empty feeling. Damn it, this is really embarrassing to talk about. Can we just . . ." He waved his hand helplessly. "Just forget about it? Please?"

Alfred wasn't about to let it go so easily, however. "But Artie, if that's all there is to it, then why didn't you just ask me to — um, do it for you? Instead of using a toy? I wouldn't have minded or anything." A sudden thought struck him, cold and nagging. What if Arthur didn't need him after all? What if he thought Alfred was utterly useless, and was only humoring him with sex until he'd had enough and was ready to find a _real_ mate who could match his academic intellect and be a super-confident, super-awesome Alpha?

Arthur's skin took on an even deeper shade of crimson. "I . . . didn't want to bother you about it," he whispered. "You were already so tired. I didn't want to be a burden." _I didn't want you to think of me as a needy, fussy, weak Omega_ was what it sounded like he was trying to say. _I don't want you to get tired of me and . . ._

And the misunderstanding finally made sense.

"You're not a burden," Alfred said seriously, heart considerably lighter. _God, what are we _doing_? _He unrolled Arthur from the blankets — once again, brushing aside his objections — and gathered Arthur right up against his chest, hugging him close. He was struck with a sense of déjà vu; this was exactly how they'd started, in Arthur's room, with Arthur in his arms and needing comfort. Had they come full circle?

Arthur's skin was hot and slightly sticky with sweat, but Alfred couldn't have cared less. He wrapped one arm across Arthur's thin shoulder blades and braced the other around his hips. He ran a few fingertips over Arthur's Omega mark, then buried his face against Arthur's throat, breathing him in. "Stop talking like that, okay? You. Are not. A burden. And I'm not too tired to take care of you when you need me, ever, Artie. Got that?" Even the words coming out of his mouth were familiar . . . but they still held just as true as they did the first time around. Arthur swallowed, his Adam's apple bumping into the bridge of Alfred's nose, doubtlessly responding to Alfred's Alpha voice. Alfred held him tighter. "Good. Now take the toy out and let me do it."

With a trembling hand, Arthur reached down, switched off the vibrator, and eased it out. A bit of slickness trailed after it. Alfred helped him unwind the cord (the vibrator itself was light blue, about two fingers wide and as long as a pencil) and toss the whole contraption onto the floor, to be forgotten in a minute. When both of Arthur's hands came up to press into his shoulders as his ready signal, Alfred cupped his mate by the undersides of his thighs and lowered him down. Soon, they were joined completely; Arthur was already going slack again with mingled relief and pleasure.

It felt so much better, and Alfred knew, with satisfaction, that Arthur had come to the same conclusion. Vibrator? No comparison at all. His Omega had been silly to ever think otherwise, and he himself had been silly to think he would ever go unneeded or be replaced. They were such a couple of idiots, he thought, smiling. But still — they were making progress.

True morning was still a ways off, so the two of them returned to dreamland, with Arthur sprawled on top of Alfred like a fur rug and neither of them happier to be proven wrong.

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**A/N: Empress Vegah, I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a phrase from your review two chapters ago for the title. ORZ**

**By the way, I was kind of lazy for the Overview in the beginning and didn't post good visual representations of their marks, so here they are. They're basically the Greek letters (the Omega mark is the only uppercase letter because I think it looks cooler, so sue me, haha):**

**Alpha****: ****α (it's supposed to be more stretched out, like two-thirds of the infinity symbol)**

**Beta: β**

**Omega: ****Ω**


	8. Seven: Unspoken

**-x-x-x-**

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_Chapter Seven_

_**Unspoken**_

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_**Message received 8:12 AM**_

**Sent by: Francis B.**

**Subject: !**

**Where are you?! Two new transfer students at school – a senior Russian boy and his sophomore sister. **_**Mon Dieu**_**, his sister . . . well, best that you see for yourself! Pictures attached.**

Alfred frowned, puzzled. If this unknown girl was enough to get Francis worked up, she was either extremely hot or extremely scandalous. Or both. If it was the latter, then cool. None of Alfred's business. If it was the former . . . yeah, he'd rather not have Arthur catch him ogling an incriminating picture just after they'd gotten together. And he was perfectly fine without suggestive viewing material anyway; porn had never really been his thing, and right now, he only had eyes for Arthur, and vice versa.

Still, curiosity got the better of him. Francis wouldn't have texted him in the middle of class for a trivial reason. Player though he was, Francis was surprisingly fussy about propriety; he must have gotten his hands on some interesting dirt on the new transfer students, whoever they were, and felt it needed immediate attention, regardless of the "no texting during class" rule. While normally that kind of thing wouldn't interest Alfred, it now made him wonder what exactly he was missing out on the only day he couldn't be at school.

So he opened up the first attachment, expecting to see something shocking.

He wasn't disappointed.

"What is it?" Arthur murmured. At some point, he'd slid off of Alfred and curled up under his arm, his slight body soft and comforting and sweetly, appropriately meek. Now Alfred felt him rub himself against his thigh, and would have recognized the resulting touch of dampness on his skin and Arthur's body language as signals of Arthur's desire for more bonding (Omegas in heat really were insatiable) if he hadn't been so distracted by the . . . _image_ on his phone.

"Text from Francis. Oh my God, what the hell?"

Arthur stilled. "Francis?"

A sudden wave of scent — guilt, which Alfred was now quick to identify — rolled off him and soaked the air around them. Arthur must have known it, too; he detached himself from Alfred's side in one abrupt motion and scooted to the far end of the bed, his face half-panicked, half-frustrated.

Maybe that was one of the downsides to being mates: not being able to withhold secrets from each other without being caught out on it immediately.

"What about Francis?" Alfred asked, phone forgotten. The sinking feeling in his stomach gave his voice an edge. He'd been taught that Alphas were at their most protective and aggressive right before and during their mates' heats, often indiscriminately so, and he realized that this was true; he could almost feel the intimidation radiating off of his own skin, and Arthur had gone wide-eyed, his face paling by increments as he shrank into the bedding, trying to make himself as small as possible — a classic Omega reflex, triggered by fear.

Some part of Alfred was screaming at him to stop, to apologize, to hold Arthur close and coax him out of his paralysis and promise to never, _ever_ give him any reason to fear Alfred again. That was what the perfect, textbook-example Alpha would do. Directed by the heat pheromones, a perfect Alpha would allow for his mate's skittishness and whims, and would do everything within his power to soothe and pamper and spoil . . . anything to keep his Omega feeling content and well-loved.

However, they were humans, not animals — they were complex beings with equally complex thought processes and morals and defense mechanisms. Sometimes, their emotions overruled their instincts and turned reason on its head, and they wound up doing things that went against the norm.

Alfred didn't reach out. He didn't move to draw Arthur into the safety and reassurance of his arms. Instead, he let his gaze bore into him, let the silence stretch into an abyss. Arthur lowered his eyes immediately, fingers tangled nervously in the sheets. They both knew eye contact meant equality in type, or a challenge; it might have been a concept with ancient, nearly outdated roots, but it was still tried and true. Omegas and even Betas developed habits that warned them against violating this rule, which, if broken carelessly, would land them in hot water with their superior Alpha counterparts. Arthur was falling back on his nature now — displaying obedience and humility, cowering like a whipped dog before its displeased master.

It repelled Alfred, because while they couldn't help their own types, their _relationship_ wasn't supposed to be so one-dimensional and clear-cut, so Alpha-Omega, so dominant-submissive. They were friends; best friends. Arthur shouldn't feel the need to grovel, and Alfred shouldn't feel the need to "put him in his place" like they were no more than what their DNA told them they were. And yet, his baser instincts thrilled at Arthur's compliance; seeing Arthur so low, so utterly nonresistant to his will made Alfred feel large and powerful and entitled — which was how an Alpha was supposed to feel. The control he wielded over Arthur, the extent of which he was just beginning to grasp, was intoxicating. He couldn't just overlook it. In his gut, pride and righteousness warred with reluctance and guilt . . . and won.

"What about Francis?" he repeated. His voice was quiet, cold as steel, foreign to his own ears.

Arthur trembled, head still bowed. "We didn't do anything. He never touched me except in eighth grade, and that was an accident; nothing binding happened then. If he'd mated with me before you, he would have left his scent on me and you would have been able to smell him. He doesn't mean anything to me. He never did. We never did anything. I swear we never did anything." His hormones were clearly making him babble. His terror of losing Alfred, of being abandoned for being less than the perfect Omega . . . that would have been obvious even without the heavy scent pheromones his body was exuding. It was the natural gut reaction of his kind to an Alpha mate's displeasure.

"Then why —" Alfred struggled to put his feelings into words. "Why did you suddenly start smelling weird when I mentioned him? Like — like you did something _wrong_ that you should feel bad about, or something. What's going on, Arthur?"

Arthur's gaze sidled from his lap off to the side, and a distracted look came over his face, as if he was reliving a memory. "Last year," he said hesitantly, "Francis asked me to be his second mate."

Alfred stared at him. "He _what_?" His stomach felt as if it'd been filled with ice. _No. No way. He did _not_ do that. Why would he? Since when has he been interested in Arthur — interested for real? He's always getting on Arthur's nerves, and teasing me about the two of us mating one day . . . not to mention how he's always talking about how much he loves his first mate and his daughter . . . why would he . . . why? He _knows_ that I staked a claim on Arthur even though we weren't bonded until yesterday!_

An embarrassed flush rose in Arthur's cheeks. "Y-you heard me . . . I said, he asked me to —"

"But why? Why the hell would he do that?"

Fidgeting with the sheets, Arthur responded with a meek shrug, then flowed back to Alfred's end of the bed and sank down on his elbows and knees, facing the headboard. He curved his spine, pushed his hips upward, slid his thighs farther apart until Alfred could see absolutely everything glistening in the faint morning light. "I don't want him. I've never wanted him. . . . Please, Alfred . . . please don't be angry with me," Arthur whispered. There was humiliation in his voice and more than a little shame, both entirely human emotions . . . but for the most part, he sounded utterly, undeniably humble. He was an Omega trying to appease his Alpha by assuming the most vulnerable and subservient position he knew how to, encoded in his genes and built into his being. It wasn't a position solely associated with sex. It was about displaying his most private parts to his mate, allowing his own weakness to psychologically please his Alpha, letting Alfred know that he could now properly assert his dominance in a way that no one would be able to question.

And Alfred didn't turn down his chance. Feeling more animal than human, hating it and relishing it at the same time, he mounted Arthur from behind. Arthur arched his neck, giving him a place to lay down his mark, and Alfred leaned over and bit him. Hard. Arthur's scent flared with pain, sharp and bitter in his nose, as the tangy taste of blood seeped across his tongue.

When Arthur finally stopped shaking and took a shuddering breath, Alfred let go. A mouth-shaped patch at the nape of Arthur's neck was pinched and purple; the skin was torn, the flesh underneath red and swollen, the six teeth marks around it dark with blood. He'd used more force than necessary, he knew; a simple nip would have sufficed. The point of the ritual wasn't to hurt the Omega, after all. But somehow . . . it felt appropriate to him. This way, no Alpha — especially none like Francis — could claim Arthur without knowing exactly whose authority they were trying to challenge, or without knowing the pain Arthur had endured to ensure that he belonged to one person, and one person only.

It was more than likely that there would be scars left over. And though hurting Arthur like that made Alfred ache inside, it needed to be done. Watching Arthur assume lordosis for him hadn't been enough of a guarantee. Leaving the permanent symbol of his dominance made up for the difference.

Alfred straightened, and let his fingers rest lightly on Arthur's Omega mark. He traced it once, feeling it scorch his fingertips, then trailed down Arthur's spine, Arthur's tailbone, until he could thumb the place where Arthur was stretched so accommodatingly around him.

"Al," Arthur said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I chose you . . . because I-I care for you. Francis has never and will never mean anything to me. Please . . . believe me."

Alfred bent over him again and pressed his chest to his warm, supple back. "I know." He kissed the salty tears from the corner of one gemlike green eye, then very gently touched his mouth to Arthur's. "I believe you."

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**A/N: To be honest, I dislike this chapter. I felt like I went wrong with it somewhere. But now you guys know what direction this fic is going in, at least. I hope.**


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